


You're Different

by kiaea



Category: She-Ra and the Princesses of Power (2018)
Genre: Everyone can join in the fun, Gen, It's not even sexy she just does it, Or sex, Reader does not have a specified gender, Shadow Weaver dunks your head in a toilet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-12
Updated: 2019-11-12
Packaged: 2021-01-29 04:26:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,031
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21404167
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kiaea/pseuds/kiaea
Summary: You'd do anything for Shadow Weaver. For some reason.
Relationships: Shadow Weaver/Reader
Comments: 5
Kudos: 22





	You're Different

**Author's Note:**

> I love Shadow Weaver. This is what she deserves. Enjoy.

Shadow Weaver’s fingers curl and twist, serpentine, cupping at your face. You are alone with her in the greenhouse. You should be on guard, standing alert, watching her for any suspicious moves. But the thought of that now is laughable. For as long as you've been eyeing her, you've only wanted more. You’ve always wanted to see what was under her mask, to stare into the heart of her and know her, the way you think she deserves. Shadow Weaver is languid; her body arches in exhaustion, her voice is long and drawn, all sighs and quiet murmurs. When she speaks to you now, she retains all the notes of her long years of life, but there’s a new edge to it, a cat who just found its new favourite toy. You feel breathless in her hand, and she’s only just begun to speak. “You don’t have another shift, do you?”  
You feel afloat. “This is my last one,” you manage.  
You think she smiles. You can’t tell. “And how much longer will you be here?”  
You’re supposed to be guarding the greenhouse for another hour. Shadow Weaver had just finished tending to her roses. She treats them so delicately, clipping at the weeds, humming; you’ve tried not to sneak glances, but you do—you’re staring always at the way she contemplates the blooms, her form so gentle. She cannot be the way the rumours about her lie. She’s different. You know she’s different. She holds something dark in her, something that longs to be understood. You could understand it, if only she’d let you. You cough. “I-I could go early...”  
“You’re sick,” she suggests. This time, you hear the smirk on her lips. “You need to be let go early. And I am no longer in the greenhouse,” and she snakes her way out of it, looking over her shoulder for you to follow, “and so you must make sure I’m behaving.”  
You chew your lip. Every part of you begs to go with her. It’s useless to fight yourself. You find yourself already tailing behind her. She chuckles, that dark and beautiful sound, and when she walks it is with the most graceful glide of any creature in this world.  
A few minutes of silent walking pass between the two of you. You’ve never been so nervous as you are when the great gates open before you, and you avoid the eyes of the other guards, who do not seem to regard your absence with any concern. Shadow Weaver leads you up the stairs, checking over her shoulder to make sure you’re still there, and of course you are, of course—you’d never think to betray her, never. Not when you’re so close to having some fun.  
She gets to the top of the stairwell, and sighs, as if all her energy has been expelled. You rush over to keep her standing, but she holds out a hand. Of course. She doesn’t need your help. She never does. She turns to you, balancing her full weight on the railing. “I’ve seen the way you look at me,” she says. “So hungry. You’d like to have a little treat, wouldn’t you?”  
Your face is hot. You nod fervently.  
There’s no one on this floor. Not yet. They’ll be arriving soon. You’re so glad that the Princesses have taken the day to tend to some other heroic adventure, leaving you with your favourite captive of all. You don't see them often, but you know they all hate her for some reason. They say she's a criminal and ought to be in prison. You can't imagine that out of her. She's just... completely, utterly breathtaking. “Come, then,” Shadow Weaver insists, and how, how ever could you resist her when she sounds like music, like a song carried across the sea? You follow her, you don’t care where to. Before you know it, you’re in a familiar room; your steps echo on the marble tiles. Her snicker carries, her dark figure passes through the mirrors. She continues to beckon to you. You are her lapdog.  
She gestures straight ahead, and it’s like the spell has broken. She is gesturing to a toilet.  
You stare at her. “What... uh, what are we doing in the bathroom?”  
“So many questions.” She shakes her head, clicks her tongue. “Go on. Remove your helmet.”  
You do, and you shake out your hair, but you remain as confused as ever. “I don’t understand. What do you want from me?”  
She steps towards the toilet. Somehow, she still manages to look like a queen. “You don’t trust me?”  
“I never said--”  
“Then you’ll listen to me.”  
The sharpness in her voice compels you. You oblige, swallowing your nerves. Have you had a reason before to distrust her? You step forward.  
You are barely allowed to breathe a single, shaking breath before your nostrils fill with water. You choke and sputter, but her hand is firmly pressed into the nape of your neck. You struggle uselessly against her. There’s another hand keeping you in place.  
She forces you back up, and the gasp you take in sears through your lungs like fire. There is water in your lungs, dripping off your eyelashes, splattered against the wall where your hair had flung it into place. You’re looking into the holes of her mask, where her eyes are, and you see just the barest glint of light reflecting off of something sadistic. She's looking directly at you, her face mere inches away from yours. She looks down on you as if sizing you up, examining you for the full breadth of your foolishness. You have only a flash of this before she throws you into the wall with such force that you feel something in your crack. You cry out in pain, slumping to the floor.  
“Pathetic,” she says. You’re still coughing up water.  
"Shadow Weaver," you wheeze, just barely, "I'm sorry!"  
“I’m not interested in people who tail after me like lost little dogs.” You aren’t given a chance to speak; she doesn’t bother to look at you again before she’s out of the room, leaving you alone against the wall.


End file.
